


Just Like That

by remarkable1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anger, Asgard (Marvel), Barebacking, Beating, Breeding, Compulsion, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Doubt, Ejaculate, F/M, Fandral is a cad, Fandral is a dick, Fate & Destiny, Fear, Fucking, Impregnation, Insensitive, Internalized Misogyny, Kissing, Marvel Universe, Meant To Be, Mistrust, No HEA, No Romance, Not A/B/O but kinda?, Possession, References to Knotting, Revenge, Rules, Sacred, Satisfying Ending (I think so anyway), Sex, Slight Dub-con but not really, Slightly weird, Somewhat OOC Hermione Granger, Swearing, Temple, The Fates - Freeform, Vaginal Sex, Wish Fulfillment, comeuppance, cross - Freeform, fear of commitment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26706295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remarkable1/pseuds/remarkable1
Summary: Curious as ever, Hermione wanders from the Asgardian palace to a rarely-visited, small temple on the grounds of Asgard palace proper. Excited at what she finds inside, Fandral the Dashing finds her there. They are destined to fulfill the obligations of the temple before they are allowed to leave.
Relationships: Fandral (Marvel)/Hermione Granger
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30
Collections: Cast the Dice 2020, Marvelously Magical Bingo 2020





	Just Like That

This fic was written for Facebook's Marvelously Magical's Bingo square I3 (eye-three). The square prompt was Fandral/Hermione Granger. This also fulfills Facebook's Wizarding Crossover Connection's Yahtzee Roll for the Dice Trope Choice of Locked in a Room.

Just Like That

Her grace was undeniable. He also found it amusing how the non-magical mortals regarded the magical ones with suspicion and caution.

_Understandable, I suppose, but they would do well to open their minds to their future. If they hadn’t turned on their own kind a millennium ago, Odin only knows how far their kind could have come by now. They might even be worthy of being Asgard’s allies._

Fandral sighed deeply, popping another grape into his mouth as Volstagg messily and noisily consumed an entire cooked pheasant drenched in royal wine sauce, sweet, not sour. It smelled divine. Still, the dashing warrior’s appetite only waned the longer he was in the presence of the Lady Granger.

_How does she remain a maiden, no token of love upon her lovely fingers or ‘round her neck? If I courted her, she would be draped in only the finest Asgard has to offer, next to the palace treasures, of course._

A great elbow shoved into his side, spilling his wine all down his shirt just as Fandral raised it to sip.

“Oops! So sorry, my friend! It seems the mead’s gone to my head!”

Fandral turned his brief scowl into a courtly smile before bringing it to bear on his gigantic comrade in arms. “No harm done. I’ve finished anyway. I think I’ll just go freshen up and mingle with the ladies.”

“Mingle. Is that what they’re calling it these days?” the one they called Tony Stark jibed at him. A couple of his friends jeered good-naturedly, and Fandral leaned over, stealing Volstagg’s mug and toasting the mortals in honor of their jesting.

“Aye. ‘Tis the polite term for feminine company,” he agreed, forcing himself to swallow the rest of the protesting Volstagg’s mead to make up for the wine spilled. He let the mug drop into Volstagg’s pudding, splashing much of it up into the redhead’s beard.

Another round of raucous laughter spilled ‘round the long feasting table.

He was quick to avoid Volstagg’s clumsy attempt to stop him, however, aware he’d pay for the retaliation, probably on the training field the morning after with a sore head.

Fandral, the ‘Dashing,’ dashed down a series of corridors until he came to the upper ranks of esteemed Einherjar quarters within the palace proper. He and the other warriors kept a small, clean stash of clothing and emergency armor there. Unable to find a mirror, Fandral made do with a shiny breastplate, grooming his beard and mustache, changing his clothing, and washing the essential bits and bobs, including the crown jewels down below.

\--

Fandral didn’t chase women. He didn’t need to. They simply flocked to him and the other Warriors like moths to a candle flame. This eve, however, he was in a desperate search for the mortal he’d been musing about during the feast. Avoiding any number of eye-batting damsels had been tricky enough. Finding the elusive mortal was like looking for a needle in a haystack. The swarms of mortals were most jovial and incredibly inebriated, no one taking care to inform them of the potency of Asgardian wine and mead upon their delicate constitutions.

Frustrated, he blew his mustache out and huffed. This was the fourth circuit he’d made of the party, the palace grounds, and the halls assigned to the revelers from Midgard.

With a sly grin, he decided she might be a bit of a rulebreaker and decided to expand upon his search.

Dodging even more revelers, he slowly expanded his circle of query until he caught a glimpse of her crimson and golden overcoat – robes – they referred to them as. She wore it most regally, and the gold looked like spun thread peeking through the dark caramel highlights of her long, curly hair. It was a magnificent and wild mane, much as any lion Fandral had ever battled or observed from afar.

Pausing in his advance, he ducked behind a pillar when she turned around most furtively, looking about before ducking into a low alcove that fed into a little-frequented and less-looked-after temple room. The quaint building stood independent of anything around it. It appeared the simple gate, locked most of the time, had been hacked off by some miscreants and the hinges torn.

“Shit!” he whispered, realizing exactly where the Lady had disappeared into.

With a crunch of boot on gravel, he zipped forward as quickly as his armor and weapons would allow, ducking with some trouble into the entryway, forgetting too late, the second crucial detail of the room they were now trapped within.

Spinning around to face them as the massive stone doors boomed shut, he simultaneously heard a feminine gasp from the opposite side of the miniature temple as he started out low, his voice gathering volume, protesting, “No. No, no, no. No, no! NO!”

His fists pounded against the rough-hewn interior of the doors that stood like sentinels, unyielding and silent. Cursing in Asgardian, he whirled, his fancy cape dramatically waving like that of a matador to a bull as it whipped around him in that fashion.

Angrily, he stalked toward the Midgardian, who shrank from him just a bit. She was holding an object in her hand. The third and final piece that sealed their fate within these hallowed walls.

“Foolish, foolish mortal! Do you know what you have done? Where we are?”

Forgetting his own strength, he grabbed hold of her wrist and squeezed his frustration out. Her second gasp made him realize what he was doing, and he let go like a hot coal, snatching his hand back and apologizing at the end of her wand.

“My apologies, my Lady. Let me tend to you.”

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day,” she sniffed, taking the tip of her wand from where she’d pointed and jammed it against his jugular and performing a simple spell on her wrist, setting it to rights.

“Your answer is yes,” she answered him defiantly, a bit proudly. Her little chin went up in the air, pert nose stuck out adorably that made him want to kiss the tip of it and claim her pouty lips.

Then her meaning hit him. He was irate once more. Fingers itching to draw his sword, useless in their current predicament, Fandral was not in his element as Hogun would have been. Even Volstagg, bless his meaty heart, would have accepted their conundrum with far more aplomb than he.

His fingers drew open and closed at his sides. “You willingly admit, you entered this fertility temple, knowing it would ensnare one of our peoples to bind with you for life, in the making of a child. One of your pitiful, short, useless mortal lives. ‘Tis hardly a sentence for me.”

As nasty as he was being, Hermione could see the man was far more frightened than he let on.

“Yes.” Ignoring him, she bent down and picked up the object she’d dropped, her eyes taking on that obsessive shine of a scholar discovering something precious and ancient for the first time in centuries. “I can’t believe it’s actually here! I’ve read about this all my life but never believed I’d actually hold it in my hand. Merlin, we all thought Asgard was a myth, but when I heard it was a real place, I just had to know if this existed, too!”

“Now you know,” Fandral grumbled, more to himself. “There are hundreds of such artifacts scattered all over Asgard. Indeed, all of the Nine, if you simply know where to look. There are a few dozen on Midgard, as well. Most of your population wouldn’t know what one of them was if it stared them in the face.”

“I would.”

“Obviously. Now that you’ve trapped me, what are your intentions? Do you expect marriage? If so, you may banish the notion. I have no intention of allowing a mortal witch to tie me down. I’m much too young to be saddled with a nagging wife and squalling offspring. My only obligation to you would be gifting my seed to ensure conception.”

Hermione eyed him curiously, putting the fertility artifact back down. “Curious. You willingly entered this temple of your own device, and now you’re complaining?”

“I didn’t enter of my own free will! I -”

Shit. Yet, he had. He’d gone in after her. No one had forced his hand. He could quickly have shouted to her from the entrance, summoned a Holy one to retrieve her safely, any number of ways to coax her from the room with no harm done. Fandral knew he’d made a grave mistake, blindly blundering ahead to the damsel in distress, as was his wont to do. Act now and think later.

Hermione folded her arms and lowered her chin then, raising her brows at him.

Fandral’s gaze was drawn to where her breasts were emphasized by her folded arms, resting just atop them in tantalizing mounds. He licked his lips, his mind clouding. “Well. We are stuck here. And you never answered my question. I repeat, what are your intentions?”

“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? I came here to find my true love. As corny as it sounds, I’m not a great romantic. I understand my life is a lot shorter than yours. I’m okay with that. I am very ambitious, and do not have the time to muck about kissing frogs just to find a prince.”

Throwing his head back, Fandral laughed heartily. “Is that what you think I am? A prince? You will be woefully disappointed, my Lady, for I am no prince. Merely a warrior and nobleman of high esteem.”

“It’s a saying. It means wading through riff-raff to find a good thing, or in this case, man. Having a child has always been a goal of mine. It wasn’t sufficient to simply use a random donor. My child must be intelligent and strong.”

“You do know what you want. I will give you high marks on that count.”

“I always have.” Hermione began to pace, only going about ten steps before meeting a wall, turning and retracing her meager path. Really looking around, she saw the dusty pallet in one corner, the remnants of a long-forgotten, petrified meal, and what appeared to be a small bundle of clothing tied into rags in a corner. “I can turn that into something more comfortable,” she nodded.

Here they were, trapped together, and all the chit could think of was making a bed comfortable enough for the both of them? Had she no wits about her?

“I’ve no intention of siring a child with you, my Lady. Indeed, I’ve slept with thousands of women, and not one as begot a child from my loins, I am proud to say.”

“Charming,” Hermione snorted. “Still. The Fates chose you. Don’t ask me why. When you stepped through that door -”

“I _know_ damn well what happened when I stepped through that door, _my Lady,”_ Fandral nearly snarled, irrationally – well, rationally given the circumstances – grabbing hold of her as she walked by again, swinging her around to face him as he took her by both of her upper arms and shook her like a dog with a chew toy, rattling her teeth.

“Have you no common sense? Is this what we can expect from all of your kind? Manipulation and deceit? If we'd any idea you were using us to get to our longevity and treasures, well, the All-Father would have struck your collective memories before you’d even breathed the word, ‘Bifrost.’”

He let her go, a petty satisfaction having rattled her so.

She fingered the wand she’d sheathed in a slim holster at her side he just now noticed her demure belt sported. Although she did not draw it, he was wary of her power with the instrument, having seen firsthand what they could do with power concentrated through them.

Giving him her best death glare, she whirled from him, her back moving from the deep breaths she was taking to calm herself.

With her back to him, Fandral couldn’t discern her reaction to his accusations. A firm smirk settled over his handsome face. Caught out, was she? Well. If she genuinely was deceitful and his schooling correct in memory, the mini temple would be letting them go any moment now that he’d called her on it even though she’d invoked the rite by handling the sacred fertility statue.

Spinning self-righteously, the doors remained stubbornly shut the longer he stood there, staring at them as if doing so would bore a hole through them and open them upon his will alone.

“I’m disappointed,” Hermione’s voice sounded at his left shoulder.

Refusing to pay her any more mind, Fandral walked determinedly to the door and pushed ineffectually upon it. Looking up at -well – the ceiling, but having the Norns in mind, Fandral insisted, “’ Twas a fine joke. You may let us out now.”

“Do they not teach you the sanctity of the temples, anymore, in your studies?” Hermione asked him. There was something different about her voice, and he turned around halfway, noting an uncharacteristic glow in her eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Are you quite alright?” he asked cautiously. A nervous flutter in his stomach told him he may have erred when he’d insulted her.

“Oh, the mortal is fine. She does not realize she houses the gateway to a new generation. Well. I suppose she does now, as we share her consciousness. I am simply guiding the horse, as it were.”

“A new generation. Of which I am the father, I suppose?” Fandral replied flippantly, still guarded. “Twas a neat trick. I applaud you, but the charade must end. I’ve end of festivities patrol and clean up to assist with.”

“You’ve no duty other than to breed the mortal, my son.”

A warm, golden light shot from her chest, and Fandral stiffened, caught in an invisible grasp that left him barely any room to breathe and his balls to tighten ferociously.

“It appears my young ones have much to learn. Do you not know, the Aesir are descended from those you so willingly condescend yourselves better than?”

“Not – true!” he bit out. What sorcery was this?

Hermione was only a few feet from him, and she moved forward, allowing the front of her breasts to brush the middle of his decorative breastplate, pushing them pointedly into him, knocking him very slightly off-balance.

“My Lady,” he rasped, the golden glow fading and his prominent erection straining under his breeches. “I know not what’s come over you, but I cannot take advantage of a fair maiden in such a manner.”

“Are you sure it’s not because you believe I will somehow trap you?”

Exasperated, his mind clouding with lust, Fandral tried and failed to remember saying such a thing. When had he ever? Why on Asgard would he not want to lay with this woman? She encompassed all of his being. Every fiber strained towards her, needed her, ached for her.

Her golden eyes, the same color as Heimdall’s, flickered between chocolate brown and gold, the woman pressing into him, stating, “The witch known as Hermione is here. I share her consciousness, as I’ve previously stated. Sometimes, when those that enter my temple are wary and do not wish to fulfill the intent, I must help them along.”

“I yearn for you, my Lady. I want nothing more than your touch upon my body, and mine upon yours.”

“Very good. I believe I will stay present. You are a fine specimen of Asgardian workmanship and shall bear a powerful son, both warrior and sorcerer. He shall be an ear to your future king and key to keeping peace in the Nine. So mote it be.”

As if the glaze was scraped from his limbs, Fandral moved on her, scooping her up, even as she waved her wand at the tatty bed, converting it into something much more comfortable and clean.

“Take me between your legs, fair Lady,” he husked out, appalled in the back of his mind the forward statement fell so easily from his lips. It seemed not to deter the divine creature under him as she worked to unbuckle his ceremonial armor.

“Hurry up. I have no idea how these bloody things are fastened,” she complained. That sounded more like the woman he was starting to get to know. Sort of?

Single-minded, the pair quickly undressed, far easier to do so themselves than to one another, both unfamiliar with the other’s intricate ties, buttons, zips, and in Hermione’s case, well-hidden Velcro.

Fandral fell upon her, scenting up her body, his blond hair tickling around the edges of her skin where it fell just past his shoulders.

“Hurry,” she begged.

“I would see to your pleasure first, my Lady,” he told her, even though his body was screaming at him to just fuck her.

“No! I need you now! I feel like I’m going to die if you don’t fuck me!”

Fandral mused, somewhere in the depths of his addled mind, that he could get used to the way Midgardian women spoke. Being forthright had definite benefits.

He felt between them, fiddling with her clit, rubbing his strong fingers through her slick folds. She felt like a warm fountain had sprung from the well of her thighs; she was so very wet. His cock jumped hungrily at the sensation. No longer needing further persuasion, Fandral braced himself on a forearm, admiring the fit body beneath him, her handful-sized breasts peaked and straining, and rubbed the head of his cock through her warmth.

“Too slow!” she told him, emphasizing his hesitance with grabbing his hips, raising her own, and forcefully sliding herself down his cock, pushing his hand out of the way, which came up to grip her shoulder.

“Norns!” he shouted, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, so he didn’t spend immediately inside of her divine cunt.

“Oh, Merlin, would you MOVE already?”

Annoyed she took such tone with him, he struggled to grit out, “I WILL. Give a man a moment, would you? You feel like the gates of Valhalla have descended upon me and bestowed me the highest honor.”

She huffed, eyes flickering golden and chocolate brown, smirking at him then. “I want you to come deep inside of me, give me a child, breed me, fair warrior.”

Now Fandral heard the other entity – that of the temple Goddess, he presumed – as those were not words he’d imagined Hermione would utter.

No matter. They were compromised, and there was no turning back. Fate had sent them on course, for better or for worse.

When he started moving, it was with intent and vigor, quickly sliding his forearms down and around her knees, pushing her legs up and out to get full access to her glorious charms.

She reached up and pulled his hair, yanking him down to meet her lips in a frenzy as they copulated, kissing him with open mouth, tongue, moans, and every ounce of passion she could pour into the intimate act.

Fandral grimaced as he felt his sack draw up in anticipation of release.

“No! We must release together!” she scolded, feeling the change as his tempo grew sloppy.

“I cannot stop, my Lady! You are too good!”

That now-familiar golden glow flashed through the lovely creature beneath him. She screamed, her body convulsing once before he felt her cunt tighten suddenly around his cock, triggering his own as he shouted and pounded into her a few more times before grasping her bottom, pushing his cock as far inside of her as he was able, coming and coming until it felt like his entire body had been drained of release, leaving him thirsty, sweaty and disheveled, not to mention embarrassed at not lasting very long.

He shook the woman beneath him slightly. “My Lady Are you quite alright?”

She opened her sated eyes with a sleepy smile. “I’m more than good. You?”

“I must confess. I did not imagine such an outcome when I started out to warn you, but now that we’ve coupled, I would be hard-pressed to wish it away.”

“I’ll take that as an, ‘I’m good too, thanks.’”

He nodded curtly. When he tried to pull out of her, he curiously felt his cock lodged, pulling back slightly to peer down at their conjoined body parts.

“Oh, my. This is quite a development.”

“What?”

Unsure how to phrase it, Fandral cleared his throat, hiding it from her view as she grew irritated.

“Let me see!”

“It’s – unsightly, my lady.”

“Will you stop? I’m a fully grown woman who’s just had the best sex of her life. I can handle weird developments. I’m a witch, remember?”

“Truly,” he replied, pulling back a bit again so she could view their predicament.

A fat bulge had formed at the base of his cock, locking him inside of her.

“Is that normal for Asgardians?” Hermione asked, not at all perturbed, rather fascinated.

He stared at her in disbelief. “I would think not! I am not a dog that ties after release with his bitch!”

Hermione resisted the urge to slap him, but only barely since he was still balls-deep inside of her.

Laying back down, she took a few deep breaths to calm herself. Focusing on the sensation, she felt it swelling even more significantly, starting to hit parts of her insides that made her pant. “Oh Gods, that feels – amazing! I don’t know what’s happening – but I need you to move again!”

Fandral felt the second wave of lust rising even as she voiced her own need, his cock hardening fully again, the knot firmly in place as he wiggled it, pumping minutely into her, his sperm starting to shoot in spurts from his dick, a continuous orgasm cycling through his body, blowing his mind as he rutted mindlessly into the fertile woman.

“Yes, yes woman! Bear me a son! A strong, healthy son. You will be my intended,” he waxed poetic, caught up in the heady release that seemed to go on and on and on.

“Yes, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” she chanted, pussy squeezing the life out of his knot until finally, finally, they exhausted themselves, allowing the euphoria to slowly fade.

Fandral rolled on his side, careful to keep one of her legs over his hip, the unusual phenomenon of a _knot_ still registering in his disbelieving psyche.

He had, overall, accepted the inevitable. The tales had been confirmed – there really was no getting out of the temple without conceiving, unless it genuinely were an accident such as children playing hide-and-find, or some such silly games.

The woman he was tied to appeared remarkable calm and fully returned to her full faculty.

“What was it like?” he asked her simply.

Petting his hair, almost like a mother would soothe a child, Hermione smiled softly. “There’s no describing having your body taken over – well, shared – with a being of such high level, I could never hope to attain it in this lifetime. It was incredible.”

“It didn’t frighten you?”

“No, in fact, she made many things clear I’d been on the fence about concerning my own life. One of them being, I belong with you.”

“Just like that?” he asked, growing skeptical again. Females and their wiles. She was a witch, after all, and it was probably a trick as he’d initially divined.

“Just like that.”

Hermione could tell he was falling back on old thought patterns and habits only by the way he gently took her arm and pressed it into her side, making as much room between them as possible.

“I’m sorry this isn’t what you wanted,” she told him reluctantly, feeling the first twinges of regret in her heart.

“It’s no matter. What’s happened is done. If you wish to keep the child, the decision is yours.”

“You don’t – don’t believe me, do you?” she asked him slowly.

His refusal to answer or to look her in the eye was the only answer she needed. Nodding to herself, she did her best to hold back the tears burning behind her eyelids. Why did it always have to be _her_ to bear the burdens of other people’s lives? Selfishly, she thought, _‘It’s not fair!’_

Well. One would be entitled to a moment or ten of self-pity faced with Fandral’s attitude, especially after the highly blessed, magickal experience they’d shared.

When they dressed, she was further entreated to his stony silence. Standing before the door, he barked out, “Open up! I’ve fulfilled your damn requirement, but nothing in this temple demands further of me than insemination. I’ve done my duty.”

A massive groan protested against the floor as it scraped unnecessarily hard against the aged, worn floor. It was as if the temple, itself, was objecting to the warrior’s attitude.

Hermione watched him go, hurrying to the door, hearing a brief sound of good-natured ribbing and cheers from those awaiting their exit.

Snarling and pushing his way through the assembled, Fandral stalked off in a right sulk, cape curling around his ankles as he snagged a maiden from the throng, barking out, “Come with me.”

Not even one minute out of Hermione’s presence, and he’d replaced her.

Well. That stung.

The uncomfortable silence that had fallen with Fandral’s barking finally culminated in uneasy looks between his retreating back and Hermione’s crumbling expression.

Resolve steeled her spine, then. She would not fall apart in front of these proud peoples. They knew what had transpired. From the look of things, _this_ particular turn of events was not the norm if there was one. She had no idea.

“Disperse,” boomed the voice of the giant Watcher, as big as Thor, armed to the teeth and regal in bearing.

Hermione started to pick her way through the rock-littered path, keeping her head down, when the Watcher’s large hand came down on her shoulder, firmly but gently.

“My Lady. The All-Mother calls for you.”

Nodding, she acquiesced, following him into the palace and the unknown, a place with which she was all too familiar with, come joy or sorrow.

\--

Fandral woke up in the infirmary the following morning, lifting his head and groaning. He took a mirror from a resident Healer who was fussing over him. He’d been given two black eyes, three missing teeth and a broken arm before being knocked unconscious after boldly bragging of his successful copulation and escape with the mortal, to Volstagg and Hogun, the night before.

To top it off, the God of Thunder, Man of Iron and a few others of the girl’s compatriots, including the Queen Mother, accompanied the crown prince. None of them looked happy in the least.

Letting his head fall back to the pillow, Fandral allowed his swollen lids to close as he murmured a muffled and sore, “Shit.”


End file.
